


flower-child and the lost boy

by atlas (songs)



Category: orange - 高野苺 | Takano Ichigo
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songs/pseuds/atlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All she can think of is the shape of his smile—crescent-thin but deep as bone—his real smile, the smile that is more sweet than sad and then his voice, and the sound of it when he says her name: <i>Naho</i>—like it’s not plain and small, like <i>she’s</i> not plain and small. He lingers, he listens—to everything that does and doesn’t remain unspoken. And he lets her listen, lets her listen to all that he can and cannot say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flower-child and the lost boy

**Author's Note:**

> the manga is about to end and this is 2 years old but i hope we get a happy ending ;A;

The letter tells her this:

_There was one time that I almost came through with my feelings. It was the day before Kakeru died.  I made him Valentine’s chocolates. But I didn’t give them to him. I was too afraid. I was always too afraid, and out of everything I hadn’t done, this was my deepest regret._

Naho re-reads the words again, and then  _again_ for good measure. Her hands are trembling; despite the covers wrapped around her, she is cold. She’s known this, all of this, since before September— _Kakeru dies in winter, Kakeru dies on the fifteenth of February, Kakeru dies, Save Kakeru—_ but it’s never felt so real. It’s never been this  _close_ —this  _rattling._

Because she cannot lose him—can’t  _fathom_ losing him. She can’t imagine a world without Kakeru, can’t imagine the world her letter-self has lived in, for ten years— _ten long years—_ without him.

All she  _can_ think of is the shape of his smile—crescent-thin but deep as bone—his  _real_ smile, the smile that is more sweet than sad and then his  _voice,_ and the sound of it when he says her name:  _Naho—_ like it’s not plain and small, like  _she’s_ not plain and small. He lingers, he listens—to everything that does and doesn’t remain unspoken. And he lets  _her listen,_ lets her listen to all that he can and cannot say.

And she loves him for it.

 _I love you,_ she tells him, in autumn,  _I’m in love with you, so don’t go away, okay?_

 _Don’t die,_ she thinks, now,  _Kakeru, whatever you do, don’t die._

X

Naho peels herself from under the covers, and calls out:

“Mom, I’m going to need to use the kitchen!”

X

_They start dating in September, the day after Kakeru’s birthday._

_It’s like stepping into a dream—out of summer and into autumn, a weaving of rain and color and change. Kakeru holds her hands for the second time on their way home, after cleaning duty. Naho curls her fingers into his and squeezes—only once—pressing her pulse into his._

_“I’m here,” she murmurs, her voice shy, but gentle. “Kakeru, I’m always, always here.”_

_For a moment, the two of them are unmoving. And then Kakeru’s head dips, and he lifts up her hand to his lips, murmuring into the skin:_

_“Thank you, Naho. For everything.”_

X

She keeps the chocolates in her bag, right beside her lunch and Kakeru’s share. She fiddles with her bag-strap the entire walk to school, and, when class starts, she checks every so often to make sure nothing’s melted. Kakeru sends her scattered glances throughout the morning, which she returns with her nervous smiles. He just tilts his head, confused; Tako and Azu sigh, from a ways off, likely aware of the source of her antics.

It’s Suwa that comes straight out with it, though, during their first break. She’s ambling off to the water-fountain, her palms clammy and her face flushed scarlet.

“You gonna give him the chocolates?” he asks. He’s half-playful, half-firm.

Naho murmurs, “Yes… I’m just…”

“Nervous?” Suwa asks, a wicked grin on his lips. “’Cause you  _love_ him.”

“Hey!” she squeaks, flicking water at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her, gently, this time, “You’ll do fine. Kakeru…”

Suwa’s smile is gossamer.

“…he loves you, too.”

 

X

_The day before Kakeru died. It’s the day before Kakeru died. The day before. The day. Before._

She can’t get the thought out of her head. She catches snappy glimpses of him during gym-class, and then it’s lunch. Suwa and the others make a show of  _‘giving the love birds their alone time’._ Naho, from the corner of her eye, notices a girl—slight and sable-haired—offering Suwa a piece of chocolate on their way out.

 _So popular with girls,_ she thinks fondly,  _And he has no idea._

Kakeru comes in after a moment, two packs of orange juice in his hands.

“The others…” he says, eyeing the classroom.

“They went out to the roof,” Naho mumbles, quietly.

“…Oh.” Kakeru’s face flushes. “I see. Um… this is for you. I know it’s your favorite.”

“You know me well,” Naho chirps, taking the juice from him. “Thank you.”

They sip at their juice in silence, before Naho unzips her bag. “I have your share, today.”

Kakeru beams. “I dunno how I’m gonna repay you for always doing this, Naho.”

 _Live,_ she does not say,  _just live, and that’s enough for me._

Instead, she takes out his bento, and the small, ribboned chocolates. She hands them both to him, shyly, turning away quickly when his eyes catch her own.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” she whisper-shouts, facing down to the desk. “I hope you like them. It’s… it’s my first time making them.”

Kakeru doesn’t say anything, for what seems like a long, long while. Naho’s eyes don’t break from the desk—the lines of it, the unopened cloth of her lunch. She can’t breathe, and she doesn’t know why; they’ve been together for a while, now— _five months, five months—_ but it seems like this is where it all will begin. This is where the letters end and her life— _Kakeru’s life—_ beyond them begins.

Or…

…ends.

The classroom is silent, save for the cool sweep of air through the window-pane, and—

—the sound of someone crying.

Naho jerks upwards. Kakeru’s lunch is unwrapped and so are the chocolates. A thousand thoughts run through her mind, but all she can think to say is:

“I’m sorry! They might’ve been bad. Maybe you don’t like sweets, I’m sorry, I should’ve asked—”

Kakeru snaps out of his seat so quickly that she thinks she might’ve dreamt it; there’s not even a breath of time before she feels his arms weave around her, his face dipped in the white crook of her neck.

“I…” he says, breathlessly, “ _I’m sorry._ I don’t—I don’t know why. But I didn’t think you would. I was scared… that maybe. You’d want to break up. Because I’m causing you problems. I always make you make me things and you cry, and—”

“Ssh,” she murmurs, her hand coming up to cradle him. “Please don’t think that way. Because you’re wrong—so, so wrong.”

They stay like that, for the rest of lunch-period. Neither one of them eats, and when school ends, Kakeru has practice and Naho has to rush home to help her Mom.

Kakeru holds the chocolates and lunch to him like a lifeline.

“I’ll give you back the container tomorrow,” he says, sounding sheepish. And then, in an eye-blink, he rushes forward, and presses a kiss, to the skin just below her eye.

Naho stills, Kakeru smiles. Suwa and Azu  _ooh_ and  _ahh_ and the other two just look amused. The thought doesn’t occur to her until a moment later:  _tomorrow is February 15 th. Tomorrow is the day._

“See you tomorrow,” Naho manages, her voice high. “Promise?”

Kakeru, red in the face, looks taken aback. But he nods, beaming.

“Promise.”

X

The next morning, he is there.

He’s  _there._

X

Kakeru, all day, is flustered, and has to ask her over and over why is she is crying.


End file.
